


Appetite for destruction

by GeoApo



Series: Alternating to Direct [2]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Restoration, Suicide, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-24
Updated: 2015-02-11
Packaged: 2018-02-26 22:30:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2668730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GeoApo/pseuds/GeoApo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not actually restoration...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The pace of her breath started fading away as she dropped her body at the right side of the bed averting her eyes from the person beside her.

The window was open and a cold breeze broke in making her shudder. Not sure if it was the winter’s temperature cuddling with the heat of her naked body or the reminder of a street camera that was gluing her since she stepped into that apartment. She looked upon the illuminated by the stars sky and an existential thought tried to emerge only to be blocked by a glance of light that reflected in the camera’s lens.

It had been two months since a very similar camera was capturing a convulsing body which she had wished it wasn’t hers anymore. And partially her wish was fulfilled somehow. She had lost the control of her body since the day it started shaking without her will. Two months later it kept doing things neglecting her motor neuron’s signals. Every now and again she would resurface from the lethargy and find herself shooting knees, drinking in bars and fucking strangers.

As for Root, she was stuck in a safe house for the past two months, only carefully getting out for missions outside of Samaritan’s range. She had called Shaw more than enough times until she got sick of listening to that rhythmical beep over and over again. Shaw’s perpetual attempts to push her away and hurt her with a contempt that only her knew how to exert were working remarkably well.

Her thermo receptor caught another change in the room’s temperature nudging her to leave. She stood up naked in front of the window and for a moment fixed her eyes on the camera. The light of the sky’s moon reflected on her and travelled all the way across the street only to be absorbed by the camera’s lens. Her nude body had imprinted on the traveling photons changing their frequency as it commanded and sending a message through that diaphragm. This electromagnetic wave changed into electrical signal and then became radiant energy again so that it can proceed to a specific brown iris and through the fibers to the occipital lobe. In series, another signal is headed to some exocrine glands activating them to produce this liquid that a moment later fell off these big bright eyes which were staring at a screen for quite some time.

Shaw smirked as if she understood what had happened in this elementary time unit and turned around to collect her scattered clothes that disclosed all the things the camera couldn’t catch.

“You can stay if you want.” The lying man sounded gentle and absolutely honest. He had approached her an hour ago in a bar down the street, concern about the way she was drinking, only to be shocked by her reaction. She had laughed amused for his regard before she stood up and dared him to lead her to his apartment.

“I don’t.” Not even a glare was spared at him as she moved towards the exit slipping on her clothes on the way. She only stood for a second leaning on the door to wear her heels and the next moment she was gone, silently just as she had come.

The night was somehow darker down on the street and she felt for a nanosecond like going home. She couldn’t though. There was an earsplitting silence waiting for her to return and thrust her brain on an unceasing loop of pain and agony.

Some people say that electricity might cause irritability and very bad temper but Shaw already had that, so it did exactly the opposite. It had left her with darkness and a void filling in the place inside her that once was consumed only with anger. That darkness seemed to fit to the letter with the drear road in front of her and it felt like home.

There were no cars passing by, no human eye judging the mess she was, just her and the camera above. An absurd thought scratched her cerebral cortex coercing her to move faster away from the camera’s range. It wasn’t Samaritan’s eye that tightened her stomach. It was hers. Not even Hers…

She wasn’t embarrassed for getting drunk, not even for fucking strangers every other night. She was ashamed of that day in her apartment, of her relinquishment. Of her weakness... A woman’s voice caressing her ears and an unconceivable urge for her touch. That impulsion was haunting her each and every sleepless night. And when the electricity was coming back to fool with her and a body that wasn’t hers anymore was trembling, she would reappear like a demon on her right side and an angel on her left cursing and courting her, respectively.

She felt her body gathering speed and ultimately running for an unknown cause. She had not order the increase in the pace but complied out of hand. It was her gut that whispered ‘run’ and these past months that kind of whispers weren’t actually coming by her brain before they transmute into movement.

“Hey you” A male’s voice was enough to understand her body’s intention. Or prevention…

This was one of the many times that her mind and body hadn’t decided mutually and more importantly that moment they completely disagreed. It wasn’t fear that she felt, nor agony or anger. It was appeal and curiosity! It was an opportunity to test her limits, to see how far her emptiness goes.

She turned around and faced four drunken men stripping her with their eyes. She simpered as bashfully as she could “How can I help you?”

The shorter man approached her while speaking “We just saw you leaving the bar with that pretty boy and thought you could keep us company for the night too.” He grabbed her wrist in a coarse way, “what do you say sweetheart?”

Shaw looked down on the rough hand tightening her wrist and smirked. Of course she had a gun hidden in her purse but she wasn’t going to use it. Not tonight.

It took her a split second to withdraw a few inches her head and butt his nose, which was much more than it took him to realize the blood on his face.

By the time the others closed in on her the man was lying gory in the street holding his nose and cursing. The two men lunged at her suddenly but it only required three moves to knock them down, one with a broken kneecap and the other folded in half ready to throw up. When she turned around for the last one she faced a big guy holding a jackknife at her.

She smiled blankly “That’s not fair”.Her hand moved instinctively in her thigh and touched the knife she had hidden. She didn’t draw it though. She was so eager to feel something, anything, that she could even welcome a little pain or better yet some fear.

They danced around for a couple of seconds, each of them waiting for the other to strike first. And eventually someone did. He zipped towards her holding the switchblade at the level of his forehead only to feel the very next moment her elbow pressing on his wrist and instantly twisting his arm. The knife dropped on the street as he kneeled. Next thing he remembers is a knee on his face, hitting him again and again.

He had passed out seconds ago but the woman kept punching him covering her hands with blood. She couldn’t stop and it wasn’t her body this time that commanded. It was a wrecked mind getting his dosage of violence. And she couldn’t stop it. Maybe she didn’t want to stop. Or just maybe she had clogged once again the communication line between her and that body and left the last one in charge.

He would be dead in a couple of strikes if it wasn’t for the sharp pain at the back of her head. She turned around and faced the only one who was able to stand again holding a broken bottle of beer. Something cold, commingled with a warm fluid, run down her neck and she kneeled down, turbid but with a grateful smirk on her face.

Root’s figure momentarily unfolded before her eyes’. She had inclined her head a bit to the left as she used to and simpered playfully at the assassin. Only when she closed the distance Shaw roused and in an atomic amount of time stood up stabbing her in the process.

The blood through Shaw's veins hammered her head at every heartbeat. She could almost hear it. That and nothing else. Only a steady beat inside her head that goaded it to explode. There was no anger there, nor regret. Even the pain from the wound seemed overshadowed by _something else..._

As luck would have it, her body continued its individualistic action not longing for a signal that would never come from a brain that had stopped giving substantial orders a long time ago. So it stood up despite the turbidity and tottering walked away.

Behind that evanescent body, four men were lying on the ground but only three of them were bawling from pain. The last one was silently choking on his blood in an unavailing attempt to remove a blade from his lung.

Ten minutes later Shaw found herself leaning on an alley’s wall. Everything felt blurry, including the way she got there. She lifted heavily a hand on her head and found a mix of sweat, beer and blood; mostly blood.

It was disgusting. Not the sight of that red liquid in her hands, but her own existence. She felt like a parasite in her own life, in her own body.

That’s it! That’s the emotion she was trying to provoke. That’s the _something else;_ she was disgusted!

And with that breakthrough seamed on her face she collapsed.

 

An hour later her eyes burst open and a familiar figure appeared in her range of vision. Instinctively she made a move to grab her knife but it wasn’t there. She didn’t need it this time though. This time she was positively sure of who was standing before her.

 

“Missed me Sameen?"

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's the second part of the intro. Hopefully the meat (actually the steak) will be at the next chapter

 

_“Root?”_

  
The woman was standing above her with a vanishing smile on her face. It wasn’t though that annoying gorgeous simper of hers that used to irritate Shaw more than Harold’s attempts to approach her emotionally or John’s ways of keeping her out of trouble. Too many things had changed these couple of months. They could all tell that she was somehow different and they treated her like so. The more violent she became, the less numbers were appointed to her, and even when she was engaging in one there was always someone babysitting her discreetly.

Root had changed too; it was this look on her face that indicated much more than she intended to reveal. And that smile… That sad frustrated smile…

  
Shaw hadn’t pondered over not even for a moment in these past months how difficult it must had been for Root to remain hidden in a safe house and simultaneously endure that radio silence from both her and the Machine.

  
But now that she was looking at her ostensibly aged face she could detect weariness and disappointment. A knot tightened inside her as she thought of how much of that disappointment emanated from her actions.

  
“Sit up” she said while turning around to rifle through a drawer for something, “I have to patch up that wound.”

  
Shaw complied. She couldn’t tell if it was the haze that kept her silent or a modicum of embarrassment; either way, she remained still even when Root turned around again and their eyes met.

  
They kept the eye contact for a couple of seconds until Root broke it in order to approach the sitting woman and take a look at that damaged head. One leg was placed amongst Shaw’s thighs and the other leaning on the bed she was sitting.

  
Her face was inches away from Root’s breast and for a moment she would swear she heard a fast paced beat coming from the woman in front.

  
Her touch wasn’t anything like the ones Shaw had before and for sure the ones she had given. It was gentle, almost affectionate.

  
“Why are you doing this?” She was absolutely certain that she didn’t deserve the solicitude the other woman was so lavishly offering. She had contemned and disaffected her more than she can remember; not to mention that she had just butchered a guy.

  
“You are bleeding.”

  
Shaw snapped. She grabbed Root’s wrist forcing her to stop whatever she was doing in her head and looked up at her. “You know what I mean.”

  
Root coerced her head to face Shaw’s. Her eyes narrowed “Would you rather stay at a crime scene?”

  
 _She wanted to say how guilty she felt, how she would had given anything to make that current pass through her body, to be the one hurting and convulsing. So many things she wanted to say but kept silent. So many things that Shaw didn’t want to hear…_

  
“Anywise, we have a new number”. She moved away from her to toss out the bloody bandages and wash her hands, leaving a puzzled Shaw staring at her back.

  
“We?! Since when do you engage in the irrelevant side?”

  
“I don’t, Harold asked me to. The number lives in a small town somewhere in Virginia and everyone in the irrelevant team has work to do for the weekend.”

  
“I can handle it, no need for you to come along.”

  
Root turned to face the grumpy woman. She didn’t even try to hide the amusement in her voice when she spoke “Sameen, you don’t understand. Harold asked me to take care of the number. Obviously he is afraid that, victim or perpetrator, you’ll eventually kneecap him. Or worse…”

  
Much to Shaw’s annoyance she wasn’t completely wrong. The last number that was entrusted to her, instead of thanking them for saving his life, threatened to sue her for shooting in his shoulder. Despite this, she couldn’t help but feel disappointed to learn that Finch trusted Root more than her. She didn’t display it though. Her face remained inexpressive since the day she had woken up beside Root. Her hug was tight even though she was still sleeping and her body was burning hot like a fireplace on a Christmas morning. And she will never admit it, but she verily had stayed in that position for a couple of minutes before walking away.

“Happy hunting” she said and stood up ready to walk.

Root instantly lost that smirk on her face but only when Shaw approached the door she spoke, “You can join me if you want.”

  
Shaw turned around confused. She stared at the woman for a moment and then laughed. “What makes you think that I would want to join _you_?”  
Her emphasis on the last ' _you'_ stole a beat from Root’s heart but she wasn’t willing to make it evident. The great influence the other woman has over her is something they both know that exists but none exploits.

  
“Well it’s pretty obvious that you need to shoot some knees and I could use some company too. It’s kind of lonely down here”. That was the most genuine phrase that came out of her mouth and Shaw could tell the difference. She wasn’t going to accept her offer though. At least not until she spoke again, “Not to mention the look on Harry’s face when he finds out that you got into a fight again and I had to erase all the digital proof…again!”

  
That wasn’t unexpected; after all manipulation was one of the greatest qualities Root could demonstrate for herself and as a matter of fact it was the feature that Shaw liked the most about her.

  
Despite her lame position, Shaw couldn’t help but feel a little satisfied with the turn of events. In fact, she was more than eager to shoot some knees or shoulders even if it meant that she must put up with Root.

  
“Fine, but I am driving” That was the only thing she wouldn’t back away from.

  
And Root depended on that “Great, I hope you remember how to ride a motorbike,” she said while slipping into the bedroom “we are leaving at the break of day.”

  
 _“A motorbike?!”_ There was a nonspecific recipient for this question and Shaw winced annoyed by Root’s ability to always leave her hanging in midair.  
For a split second the thought of walking into the bedroom felt irresistible. She wasn’t sure though if she wanted to asphyxiate her and dispose the body or make her painfully come with her name stuck in her larynx. Either way, she was definitely eager to hurt her.

 

She tried to tone down her heartbeat and only when she succeeded the sound of Root’s breath reached her ears. Her tense suddenly turned into tranquility as their breaths synchronized.

The urge for violence disappeared. It was going to be a long weekend and she definitely needed a bath…

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

_Nights seem endless for the insomniacs. Is it the silence that weights you down and you can’t breathe properly or the thoughts that scream inside your mind and drill your brain in a desperate attempt to surface? It may be the realization of the fact that everybody else is sleeping calmly and you alone remain, stationary and simultaneously restless, locked up in an apathetic and insentient body while anxiously spinning around in it. Because that’s the only thing you are left with when the electricity returns to hit you again and again just like every night since that day. And you cannot control your movement, you stand still but you are shaking, and you surrender yourself to your mind to carry you away. Besides, that’s the only part of yourself that you have some influence over. Not enough though. As much as you try to change its course, it keeps entering that bedroom, watches over the woman’s peaceful sleep -as peaceful as you have never been in your life-, tries to touch her, tells her all the things you want to say but you can’t. And when you finally manage to extract it from the next room it rushes to a storage and then to a subway station and to your apartment. And you realize that wherever you roamed this night, she would be there looking at you affectionately and erotically at the same time, blaming you, caring for you, missing you. Doing all those things you have never done for anyone. Not even for her. But she keeps offering them selflessly without asking for anything in return, without taking anything. And it makes you wonder, why has she never asked for anything?_

 

The couch couldn’t hold her impatience any more. She checked for a hundredth time the clock -one more hour until the sunrise- and kept waiting and staring blankly at an empty wall. That night wasn’t any different from all the other sleepless nights she had had the last couple of months. The only minor difference was an indistinct sound of a calm breath in the background. It was this breath that guided her through the night, that restrained her body every time she considered leaving and paced her thoughts. And maybe she had never actually heard it; maybe she only imagined it drifting on the air close to her. One way or another, she didn’t really care, as long as it was close.

In the still of the night, it was easy for her to recognize the sound of a bed that had just lost its weight and consequently footsteps that kept rising until they stopped.

“You didn’t sleep at all?”

She didn’t need to turn around to identify the person that was standing behind her. She didn’t even need to answer the question. They both knew she was so damaged that even the sandman was afraid of her murderous instincts.

“Are we leaving yet?”

No responce was received and before even deciding to stand up she felt a wave of heat pouncing on her and the next moment a head burst upon her left shoulder in an almost cheek to cheek contact. The emerging warmth of the until recently sleeping body was practically unbearable but so overwhelmingly inviting.

“Maybe I should drive” Root whispered in her ear making her shudder.

After a quarter rest she turned her head just for a radian to face the smile that was haunting her the whole night. And this breath that kept her company until sunrise and now was gently caressing her neck was stable and burning hot as if millions of nuclear fusions of hydrogen were taking place inside her lungs.

She didn’t make any other move though. _It would have been defeat._

“I am driving.”

Root’s smile grew rapidly as though she was expecting exactly this response and eventually it justified her in triumph.

Just before pulling her head from Shaw’s shoulder she closed her eyes and tried to inhale as much air the other woman exhaled as possible.

“Mmm you smell nice”

The scent the sitting woman was giving off was a mix of her shampoo, her toothpaste and something else that she couldn’t define, but it was that insurmountable and unique that made her aroma so wonderful like a Sunday’s morning.

Shaw turned fully around to have one of her usual deadly glances at the annoying intruder but she only saw her back while entering again the bedroom. The void this energy source had left behind was replaced by a cold draft which had absorbed the fragrance of the person that was standing there a second ago. Shaw though that if familiarity and geniality had a waft they would smell like _Root_. And that’s how she assumed would smell the hearth and home she never had or a morning with someone sleeping snugly beside her.

 

The night was barely gone when she stepped out of the safe house with Root following. In the view of the parked motorbike she realized the reason behind Root’s mindless acceptance of her desire to drive and rolled her eyes at the impending sexual abuse. It wasn’t the first time she had chosen a bike over a confortable car when they rode together even if the weather was unsuitable. Usually Root was driving so the only contact they had was hardly between their torsos since Shaw was trying to step as further from her as possible in a manner of sitting exactly on the edge.

Now that she was in the front she couldn’t control her passenger’s movement and the threat that gave her before they got started didn’t appear to intimidate Root in the slightest. In fact it looked like she enjoyed the way that Shaw had emphasized the words _‘touch’_ and _‘kill’_.

And until the first three hours she had managed to keep her hands on the bike much to Shaw’s concealed disappointment. Her warm body though was fully attached to the driver’s and neither of them seemed to fret about it.

Their passage through the Delaware Memorial Bridge was the triggering event that Root was looking for the whole time. A cold breeze that emanated from the river beneath them made Shaw shudder and the co-driver slipped her hands around her waist and clasped her tight as if she would fall off at any moment.

And maybe she did hear someone imperatively calling her name but if anyone asked; _she didn’t._

 

These hours on the motorbike she felt safer than any other time in her life. And not just for herself but also for the woman in front. After two months of isolation and apprehension that was the first time that she felt Shaw so close, that she was fine and she was alive. And it was this moment when she realized that the convulsing body she was looking at through a computer’s screen and wasn’t sure if it still contained a human soul was alive and she could touch it, hug it, annoy it! Unimpeded tears run down her cheek and instinctively her hands tightened around the driver.

When the sun finally stood right above their heads and the increase in the temperature was perceptible she caught herself unzipping Shaw’s coat and slipping her hands in. She was caressing and touching her abdomen with deference like something sacred and elusive that she managed to curb with strain and the wrong move would cause it to fly away.

This time she truly didn’t hear her name and as a matter of fact nothing was spoken, neither consent nor denial, and she smiled.

 

 

The town was so small and quiet that it made you wonder how your life can be in danger while you live in a place like this. Shaw killed the engine exactly in front of the entrance of the old hotel they would stay. It was the one out of two in the town and, apart from being the most quiet, its owner was their number.

A reserved man in his fifties, with no criminal record, recently widower and father of a 19-year-old girl. His digital footprints were nowhere to be found and considering the anachronistic mood of this town it wasn’t weird at all. In fact, the whole area was a huge blind spot for Samaritan much to Root’s convenience.

As soon as Shaw got rid of her helmet turned annoyed to the woman beside her. She might have not reacted when she felt Root’s hands caressing her abdomen but not berating her would only imply that she liked it and there was no way in hell she would ever acknowledge it.

“Couldn’t you just hold on to the bike, did you have to cleave to me?”

Root took the attitude of a child that had just been scolded as she spoke apologetically, “But I was cold”

Shaw rolled her eyes and without saying a word moved towards the entrance. The doors, the walls, the floor and almost every piece of furniture in there were wooden or with a wooden finish. Even the stairway that led to the first and second-and last- floor was made of wood; the existence of an elevator was out of the question.

Behind the reception desk was sitting a lovable blonde girl who, as they suspected and later verified, was their number’s daughter. She didn’t seem to notice them, totally absorbed in the book she was reading. Shaw cleared her throat and only then the 19-year-old señorita raised her eyes and faced the two women that stood before her.

The tall one was smiling at her sweetly. Her smile exhaled a serenity that could lead a bull through a china shop without breaking a plate. She looked in her mid-thirties but her tired characteristics and her sad eyes revealed that she had seen more crap in her life than the average person in her age. Every once in a while she would take a peek at the short woman beside her as if she was afraid that from one moment to the next she would be gone. She liked that woman from the very first sight; she had some sort of a draw on her like they had a connection somehow.

As for the shorter woman, she was so much different from the other. She appeared to have so much energy and tension as though she had just woken up from a comatose sleep; however the bags under her eyes indicated the exact opposite. She couldn’t discover much from her face; it was harsh and inexpressive. Her body language though revealed a person with great confidence but also distrust and aloofness. Her movements were measured and although she seemed comfortable standing next to the taller woman, every now and then she stepped away keeping a very specific distance between the two of them. For a questioning reason she felt like she wanted to help that woman, whatever that meant, even though she didn’t look like the kind of person that needs help with anything.

“Oh, please forgive my inattention. We are not used to have guests this time of year, especially since that hotel was built at the other side of the town. What can I do for you?”

The grumpy woman replied right away, as if she wanted to prevent the other from talking. “We’d like two rooms.”

It didn’t stop though the smiley woman who added in return “…or one!”

Those two words triggered a run of chain reactions mirrored in the shorter woman’s eyes that looked like they were on fire.

On second thought, the brunette might be able to calm a bull but she can also activate a volcano just by making a simple gesture. And when that gesture was made and her hand caressed softly the other woman’s back explaining in the process that they were sisters, you could clearly discern the lava inundating the last one’s eyes, ready to overflow and burn everything that would get in its way.

The tension among them was more than apparent and it seemed to her a wise choice to break the silence, because if she hadn’t, that tension would turn into motion and then a bull in a china shop would be a nugatory incident compared to the one that was about to happen in there.

“Since the number of residents is extremely low I could give you our biggest room at a fixed price. It’s a seamless twin room but with double beds and a dividing wall between them so that you can be together and simultaneously segregated."

The angry woman had already a denial on the edge of her lips when the other agreed with a sincere smile full of gratitude adding one more keystone to the anger of the first one, who grabbed crossly the key and walked with a choked range towards the staircase.

The taller woman stilled for a moment and stared at the blonde girl in the reception until she realized how creepy she might seem and casted a homey smile before following the grumpy one upstairs.

 

The room wasn’t as big as the girl had presented it; anyhow, there is no room big enough to hold the two of them together. On your left side was a small living room with a mini bar and an empty TV stand. The bathroom’s door and a pompous wooden closet were to your right. Moving forward you could see the two semi-double beds and between them a movable partition that didn’t actually divide the room, just blocked the visual contact among the beds. Shaw caught herself imprecating how close the two beds were and beatifying the divider.

Root mentally did the exact opposite…

 

The assassin was ready to rail against the choice of a twin room that wasn’t hers but before she could even open her mouth Root pulled the laptop she had stuck into her bag while speaking with a strictly professional attitude. “I’m going to break into our number’s room to plant the camera and I’ll join you to the hotel’s restaurant in an hour, you will find him there too.”

There was a sudden change in Root’s manner since they had checked in. As if her weariness and sorrow she had ever felt in her life returned to overwhelm her and eliminated the exuberance and playfulness she had until now. Shaw didn’t make evident her awareness of this alteration, only nodded and left in silence. There was no way in hell she would stay and talk about any kind of feelings, let alone Root’s feelings, that would either annoy her or make her feel uncomfortable.

At the same time that Samaritan went online and the Machine stopped whispering in her ear, Root changed. She seemed lost in a void that couldn’t hold her any longer and consumed by the darkness like a hint of light in the abyss. Shaw might not know much about emotions but she did know plenty about emptiness and murk. And she definitely could both discern them behind the woman’s gorgeous smiles and innuendos.

 

The restaurant was at the first floor and as soon as Shaw walked in realized that the word ‘restaurant’ was only used because of the lack of a noun that describes a room with five tables and a small kitchen in the background. She chosen the most remote table to sit and conducted a short recon before fixing her gaze at the cook. From the picture Root had shown her earlier she assumed that he was their number and -now that she was looking at him- probably the victim. Taller than the average, tawny hair and a three day’s gray growth on his face, he served as hotel manager, cleaner, cook, waiter and anything else was required. He had the energy of a hyperactive child that had just eaten sugar, running around for chores and when he couldn’t find any he was standing by the bar waiting for someone to seek his help and nervously tapping the counter.

She noticed his feet rocking in the rhythm that his fingers were giving and realized that this man was mostly working, not to cater for his family but, because he had an untamed need to keep himself busy. It reminded her of the innumerable times that she caught herself hoping than someone around the world was planning a terrorist attack so that they would summon her up for the job. Of course she didn’t care much for people but she did care about her need to relieve that pressure on her mind.

The void her nonexistent emotions had created was filled up by her work’s tension and anger, after all that was the only thing she knew how to feel and it was enough for her; leastwise, two months ago. Now nothing seemed to fill in the emptiness that was left behind by the electric potential difference between her fingers and the necessity for violence was more authoritative than ever. And more useless than ever before. Even sex couldn’t offer the decompression that she was seeking; it only supplied her with minimal pleasure and momentary control over her body.

Locked in her thoughts she hadn’t notice Root who was staring at her for quite some time from the entrance. She had an extorted smile on her face and seemed to hesitate to enter the room. When Shaw fixed a peremptory gaze at her she averted her eyes and sent them off to every little object she could discern, the kitchen, the wooden floor and everywhere else except Shaw’s stare. She was avoiding it as if she looked at those grumpy eyes she would betray all kind of secrets.

Eventually, she managed to step in and took a seat close to Shaw violating with a million ways her person space. A hand crossed the gap between them and rested in the other woman’s chair back.

“I see you found our number”

Shaw didn’t comment the gesture. She could tell the difference between Root’s playful mood and need for human contact. And if by allowing her to sit near and keep her hand intellectually around her back she could offer her some comfort, then Shaw had no problem with that, as long as she didn’t touch her.

“Yeah, the hyperactive guy over there”

Root glued her eyes to him refusing to remove them even when the cozy silence between the two women started feeling awkward. It was the first time Root had managed to keep her mouth shut for more than thirty minutes and while Shaw most of the times welcomed the quiet, now started bothering her more than the hacker’s usual unstoppable prolixity and caught herself seeking for an opening gambit.

“Did you tell Finch that I’m helping you with the number?”

Root kept staring at the man who was now scrubbing an already clean table. “No, and neither should you”

“Why?”

That and only question succeeded in magnetizing Root’s gaze and attention. She turned around to face Shaw and looked at her in an inquisitive and probably angry way. It was that look that Shaw had encountered when she had opened her eyes the previous night and had faced her judgmental and fed up glower. And she didn’t look like she forgot in what state had found the assassin twelve hours ago.

“You know why. According to Harold, the risk the numbers are exposed to is logarithmically increased when you are the one who tries to save them. Or at least that’s what Harry believes when you show up to work with new unexplained injuries, sleepless and reeking of alcohol.”

As harsh as that sounded, it was thoroughly true and Shaw couldn’t disagree. She might have been able to finish successfully the jobs, even with a terrible hangover or fresh wounds but her violent instincts were what Finch was afraid of.

Suddenly, something strange forced her to make the question and as much as she tried she couldn’t stop the words from escaping her mouth.

“And what do you believe?”

Root averted her eyes and for a moment she appeared to be processing the question. It was pretty obvious to her that she couldn’t be the one to judge the other woman’s actions. She herself had done things in her life that if Harold knew the half of them he wouldn’t had let her anywhere near the subway station again.

Nevertheless, she couldn’t speak the truth. She couldn’t tell her how much it hurt watching her puttering around a life whose only purpose was to extricate itself from a pressure vessel and more importantly how she considered herself responsible for every outburst and every scar she engraves on her body. No, she wouldn’t admit how close to her she is, how she understands that need for peace and violence at the same time, how much she cares for her…

She would only say what the other woman wanted to hear, “I believe that you are more than capable of taking care of yourself and every other number is entrusted to you.”

Root’s instinct of apprehending the exact thing that someone wants to hear had just betrayed her.

Shaw didn’t want to know how capable she is. She already knew that. She wanted to listen to her cursing and hating and blaming. She wanted to see her disgusted. As much as disgusted she was with herself. She needed a reaction that wouldn’t signify pity and sympathy; that wouldn’t make her feel as weak as she had felt _that day._

No less, she didn’t respond. She only nodded and stood up. All of a sudden, the overpowering urge to leave had returned and she could almost watch herself walking away from everything and everyone. She felt like she had failed them all and Root more than anyone else, who had tried to stay by her side but now she stopped. And it was fair…

“It’s your turn to babysit. I’ll go get some rest”

 

Back to the room, she found herself lying in one of the already unmade beds and detected a smell of familiarity and geniality in the sheets. Before even trying to get angry with Root for using both beds she shut her heavy eyelids and fell asleep...

 

 

_10 mA. It’s coming all over again. She feels the Taser in her neck and freezes._

 

_20mA. She knows it’s a dream but she can’t stop the incremental pain._

 

_50mA. She won’t blink. Her body is convulsing violently but she doesn’t blink._

 

_80mA. Her heart stops, the body is still shaking and she can hardly feel her broken wrist._

 

 

The ritual was about to end when she felt something _more_ holding her arms. Something that wasn’t there _that day_ and neither the nightlong repetitions contained it.

She opened her eyes and clenched the neck before her. She could feel the anger overwhelming her and took pleasure in it. She tightened her hands around that neck and smiled absent-mindedly as she felt like confirming the mortality of human life. It was almost peaceful.

Strangling someone with bare hands was more than decongestant; it was _redemptive!_

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

Her eyes were open but she wasn’t actually looking. The urge for violence was blinding her in a way she never quite understood and could never be sure if it existed before the torture or was just an aftereffect.

Gradually the neck she was clenching started feeling familiar as if she had held it again or kissed it and bitten it more times than she cared to admit.

Her vision was clearing up and she could dimply see the person before her.

_Root?! What am I doing?_

_‘Stop!’_

She heard herself talking to her body as soon as she realized what _It_ was doing. For just a second _It_ didn’t respond to her command, _It_ was taking its dosage of violence and, as _It_ did before, wasn’t going to stop on account of the human inside _It_. After all, these past two months _It_ was the one that continued this life, not this person who was now trying to impose upon _It._

Finally, her hands loosened and Root collapsed onto the floor coughing and struggling to breathe properly. Shaw backed away, too afraid to even consider what she could have done if she had stopped some seconds later.

All this time she didn’t really care about the people she hurt. They were strangers and they had it coming. But this… this was going too far. Root was the only person she liked to _hurt_ but not harm. Every bite she had made on her, every scratch and wound was carefully placed, destined only to cause pain and pleasure.

Her eyes stuck on the lying woman who had now partially retrieved the pace of her breath and tried to stand up again. The thought of helping her passed through her mind but she instantly exorcised it far too scared of what her body would do if _It_ approached her victim.

“What the hell were you trying to do?”

Root swallowed hard and while adjusting her brown hair that hung dully around her pale face she sat up on the bed. Her almost lifeless eyes met the assassin’s and kept their position until she spoke. “You were shaking.”

The voice that came out of her mouth sounded coerced and its pitch was lower than usual.

Shaw released a resonant breath and remotely shook her head. “Next time try not to intervene.”

She wasn’t angry -at least not with Root. Her voice could easily be characterized by exhaustion or disappointment or even sadness but not anger.

Root seemed surprised. The day after her torment Shaw had the same restless sleep, waking up every hour tremulous and bewildered, but this was totally different. She was becoming violent. _Well, more violent than she already was._

Root could remember every minute she spent that night hugging and comforting her. She could even remember every touch she had received, every acceptance of physical contact, every caress she had been allowed to give. She hadn’t slept that night. Every moment spent holding Shaw had been so sacred and exceptional that she wouldn’t squander it for some sleep.

“ _Next time?!_ Is this a frequent occurrence?”

Shaw didn’t answer. She averted her eyes and stuck them on the laptop’s screen. It was transmitting live their number’s room and Shaw saw him cleaning it with such a commitment, as if his whole life depended on it. And maybe it did. She could undeniably link her urge for violence to his incessant chase for tasks to complete. It was that void inside her that could discern his from miles away as though they were drawn to each other with forces that no gravitational constant could describe.

“Shaw?”

Root’s voice brought her back to reality.

“What?” She replied annoyed, like she was watching something of importance and had just been interrupted.

Root obstructed the words from coming out of her mouth. She had to be sure before speaking because if she wasn’t then there would be no going back. So she silently kept her eyes in contact with the pair before her which looked like it couldn’t stand anymore the frustrated eyes that were gluing it.

“I’m fine!” The tone of her voice endeavored to sound persuasive and she couldn’t be sure if she was trying to convince Root or herself. Ultimately though, neither seemed persuaded.

“You don’t look fine.” It was more of an accusation than a statement and she knew she was crossing a line here, especially since Shaw had endured the torment and its aftermath to protect her.

“And why do you care?” The words had escaped her mouth before she could even think about them and she regretted it at the same time.

Root’s response came straight and unforced “You know why.”

“Don’t!” She threw a deadly glare at the hacker and turned her eyes again to the laptop just in time to chance upon the scene that was about to take place.

 

As soon as the girl grabbed her father’s wrist in order to stop the cleaning process that had started an hour ago Shaw raised the volume and they both focused on the screen.

_“Dad, please stop, you need to get some rest.”_

He didn’t look like he had heard her and yet he stopped. Root and Shaw had stuck with him all day and had watched him completing one chore after another without even taking a break and they were surprised to see that after all these hours of hard work he had stepped into his room only to start cleaning.

Eventually, he sat himself down on the sofa and covered his face with his hands while speaking softly.

_“I just need to keep my mind busy”._

His daughter approached him and caressed his hair as if she was the parent that had scolded her son and now was trying to console him.

_“I know. I miss her too. At least we still have each other”_

Shaw assumed they were talking about his wife who, as Root had told her, had died a month ago in a car accident. She wasn’t going to relate this emotional moment to her family. She was nothing like that kid over there. After her father’s death she had continued her life like everything was fine. She did feel a void somewhere in her childhood but nothing else. As for her mother, at first she used to hug little Sameen and cry on her shoulder but as soon as she realized that she wasn’t actually giving any consolation and as a matter of fact neither was she getting any, she stopped making physical contact and at a later time she stopped making contact at all.

The man lowered his hands and looked his daughter in the eye as if an idea had just popped up.

_“Promise me that when the time comes you will walk away and never look back. Don’t get stuck with your old man.”_

If Shaw wasn’t so screwed up she might had sympathized with the fear of separation between a father and a daughter. At the end of the day, she had lost a father too.

Suddenly something clinked inside her head and she curiously casted a glance at Root who, much to Shaw’s surprise, had averted her eyes from the screen. She had never given much thought to Root’s childhood or family. Only knew that she lived with her mother somewhere in Texas until she passed away when Root was about 23 years old. Her father was undisclosed or at least Shaw knew nothing about him; in fact she had never asked.

_“Stop saying that, I will not leave you alone.”_

The girl grabbed a towel from the closet and stepped into the bathroom as if she didn’t like where this conversation was heading and desperately tried to avoid it.

 

“I’m pretty sure that the daughter isn’t a perpetrator” Shaw turned to face Root but found her seat empty. She stood up and moved towards the beds only to find her sitting on the left (she hadn’t chosen a bed yet, but toggled from one to the other marking them both with her perfume).

She was blankly staring at an oil painting on the wall. It portrayed a brightly-colored wild horse and was signed by someone named Laurie Pace. Beautiful but couldn’t distract Shaw’s attention from the sitting woman.

“What’s wrong?”

No response came and a few silent moments later Shaw spoke again.

“Root? If this is about before I’m uh… I’m sorry!”

That was enough to attract Root’s attention but she didn’t comment on it.

“Tell me about your father.”

She caught her more than unprepared for that kind of question. Shaw never spoke about her father. The memories she had of him were too sacred to utter them in this life that would definitely contaminate them.

“I don’t remember much. What do you want to know?”

Root gave it a thought for a moment and then decisively looked up at Shaw as if she was begging for something. “I want to know what fathers usually do.”

That was an even more awkward question but Shaw was pleased not to have to talk about her father.

“I don’t know. Take you out to the ball game maybe?”

Root smiled slightly and then turned again to the painting while casting the next query.  “And what about mothers?”

Shaw raised her eyebrows for no one to see. It was an odd question considering Root had her mother close more than Shaw had hers, or at least that was what she had heard from Finch.

“I thought you were raised by your mother”

A bitter laugh escaped Root’s lips but before any of them could comment, a loud noise came through the laptop’s speakers.

 

_“You never told me that”_

When the two women reached the laptop they were surprised to see that the gentle man who did nothing all day but work and friendly chat with his employees was now yelling at his daughter.

_“I was going to. It will be just a couple of days”_

The girl was trying more to calm him down than to apologize.

_“No, you were going to abandoned me like your mother did.”_

Shaw had a surprised glance at Root who was now tentatively looking at the screen. After a boring day their number had finally managed to arouse their interest.

_“What are you talking about? Mom died, you have to accept it eventually”_

His anger strengthened, if that was even possible. _“No! Your mother is not dead!”_

Surprisingly the girl wasn’t puzzled over the rocket her father had just unleashed. She was too levelheaded to believe such a statement, so she held fast to her view.

_“She is. You may think that the work and the drinking will bring her back, but it’s not gonna happen.”_

Clearly that wasn’t the man they had met a few hours ago in the restaurant and he just confirmed it by slapping his daughter hard in the face. Shaw instinctively grabbed her gun ready to barge in but Root grasped her wrist before even trying to move towards the door.

And even when the angry man approached the lying down girl Root kept her there with absolute certainty. In an instant his face went back to being soft as if nothing had just happened. He extended his arm and helped his daughter stand. _“Oh my god, I’m so sorry Sam.”_

 _‘Great, as though two Sams in a building weren’t already enough!’_ Shaw thought.

The girl _–Sam-_ didn’t seem scared. She wasn’t even angry or sad by the gesture. It was as if she was used to that kind of treatment and didn’t mind it. Much to Shaw’s surprise, she approached her father and hugged him with compassion. The man released a wail while nestling into his daughter’s embrace.

 

 

“What the hell was that?”

Shaw turned to Root and while doing it realized that she was still holding tightly her wrist. The other woman was lost in her thoughts and only when heard her name she moved her gaze to Shaw and at the same time drew away her hand rapidly like it burned.

 

 

“He is leaving. Let’s go.”

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, it's not much and maybe i've made more mistakes than usual but free time is really dying out these days.

 

The man walked into the bar and a few seconds later the two women followed. When they stepped in they found him on a stool by the booth and Shaw occupied the empty table behind him as Root sat down exactly beside her. They were facing his back but could easily hear his voice when he made his order to the barman. And it wasn’t only the double whiskey that he had ordered. Soon they realized that the song _‘La Grange’_ by _ZZ Top_ that was now blasting out was also his doing.

“At least he has good taste in music.”

Root smiled at the comment. She hadn’t made an innuendo since they arrived in this town and Shaw couldn’t help but wonder why.

Suddenly this silence started suffocating her and she spoke again.

“How did you know?”

Root turned to her and gave her an inquisitive look. “Know what?”

“That he wouldn’t hurt her.”

“I just did.”

Shaw nodded, but wasn’t satisfied with the answer she received. That kind of certainty was only seamed at Root’s face only when she had the Machine in her ear whispering orders and Shaw was pretty sure that She had nothing to do with that.

 

When their beers arrived the number was finishing his second _jar of whiskey._ He obviously had some issues with alcohol, not that Shaw was the one to judge him. The last couple of months she herself had drunk more rum than every damn pirate had had in half a year tour.

 

An hour and five drinks later a man accompanied by two tall and broad men walked in drawing the attention of their, currently drunk, number. His clothes indicated a man of wealth and taste like he had nothing to do with this town but his attitude revealed something else, something more than an elegant rich businessman.

As soon as he sat down the number finished his half empty glass of whiskey in a swig and moved stumbling towards his table.

Shaw couldn’t discern what the voices where talking about but soon enough the volume rose efficiently so that everyone could hear their absurd dialogue.

“Give her back!” The number had taken again the countenance of a man who shouts at his daughter and then hits her in the face. He was someone else, someone angry and aggressive.

“I’ve already told you, I don’t have your wife!” The man lost his patience but deep down he seemed to be enjoying the attention more than he should.

“I know you do and I know about the warehouse too. Why do you always have someone guarding it? Is there where you keep my wife?”

The man stood up menacingly and so did Root.

“You called the police countless times and none of them they found a reason to issue a search warrant. I know it’s hard to lose your wife but stop accusing me of kidnapping her and more importantly stop snooping around illegally my properties. I think I’ll go drink somewhere else tonight.”

And that’s exactly what he and his men did.

 

The number continued drinking with the two women watching over him. Shaw was more than bored. She couldn’t drink on the job and 24 hours had passed since she had temporarily released some pressure by both fucking someone and exercising violence. And it was that time of the night that she imperatively had to do something or else her body would take control and it was going to make a mess that neither Shaw nor Root could handle.

Hopefully the case had shown great potential for giving her a dose of violence and she wasn’t going to let it slip away.

“Maybe we should check that warehouse.”

Root was tentatively gazing at the number while she spoke. “Why? Do you really believe that his wife was abducted?”

Shaw gave her an inquisitive look but she was too absorbed by the drunk man to catch it. “Don’t you? The Machine sent us here for a reason and I just don’t think that it is to prevent him from drinking himself to death.”

“I’m just saying that we got his number not his wife’s, if she is indeed alive. And that’s a big ‘if’.”

Shaw opened her mouth to reply but regretted it the moment she saw their number leaving the bar.

They paid their beers and followed him from a distance until he stopped. Actually, he was stopped by the two bodyguards that were previously escorting the wealthy man.

Not even a word was exchanged before they started beating him up. He didn’t fight back though, just fell to the ground and accepted every hit as if he deserved it. And it was this look on his face, a look that indicated satisfaction more than worry, that caught Shaw’s attention when she finally reached them.

She hit the first guy in the head and, before even turning around to fight with the other who was ready to attack, she heard a familiar sound and saw him freezing and subsequently collapsing.

Root smirked as she turned off the taser she was holding. Shaw stuck her gaze with it for a moment and then looked up at the woman by some manner disgusted. Shortly Root realized the revulsion she had caused and quickly slipped the taser back in her jacket averting her eyes from the pair across.

 

As soon as they dropped the drunk man on the foyer’s couch his daughter showed up. She was more worried than angry about her father’s condition, as though it wasn’t his fault that he got drunk again.

When they stepped into their room, Root opened her laptop and watched as the girl helped her father with his clothes. He wore with difficulty the clean shirt but before even trying to remove his shoes the whiskey had made his way up to his throat and emerged from his mouth. Sam didn’t spoke. She cleaned his mouth again, made him wear a new shirt and, when he fell asleep, wiped the vomit off the carpet.

She did all that and then turned on the television like nothing had happened. As if it was her every day job and now that it ended she could relax watching a movie or reading a book.

Shaw turned to a distracted or lost-in-a-thought Root. “I need to look at his medical file. There should be a disorder somewhere; did you see his face when they were hitting him? It was like he was enjoying the beating!”

Root’s eyes were wet when they angrily met Shaw’s. “Yes, because according to you every fucking emotion is a disorder.”

Shaw was unprepared for that kind of an outbreak. She held back the words she wanted to say but didn’t keep quiet.

“I don’t know much about emotions but I do know one thing or two about psychological symptoms.”

Root laughed bitterly and it wasn’t the part about the symptoms that caused this sarcastic response.

“You choose not to know about emotions. You are afraid of them…”

“Don’t.” She tried to interrupt her but it wasn’t enough.

“That’s why you’ve been avoiding me since that night,” she paused for a second and then continued “after your torture.”

Shaw narrowed her angry eyes but didn’t reply. She grabbed her coat and moved towards the door. Only then she heard the other woman speaking again.

“See? You are doing it again. Maybe you don’t feel anything for me, but you really can’t handle my feelings, can you?”

A moment of silence from both sides had passed when she spoke again, this time disappointed at the other woman’s stillness.

“And maybe you pity me for having these feelings. Is this why you’ve been avoiding me? You can’t give me what I want, so you pity me?”

Shaw snapped. “Do you really want to talk about pity? Maybe you should tell me why you didn’t use the taser on me when I was strangling you. I know now that you had it in your jacket which you were wearing this afternoon. So, who pities whom?”

Root kept staring at her speechless and before regaining the ability to speak Shaw was gone.

 

The road was empty but somehow it seemed fuller than her. At least it had some light to fill up the emptiness, unlike her who had only darkness overwhelming her void.

Suddenly, she felt the urge to stop thinking. It wasn’t possible but she could change her thought’s path, at the very least.

Disorders; that she did understand!

She called Harold a couple of times and when she finally reached him he sounded sleepy and maybe a little worried.

_“Miss Shaw? Is everything okay?”_

“Yes, I just need some information about our number.”

_“What are you talking about?”_

“Don’t get mad. I’m in Virginia helping Root with the number”

_“What number? We don’t have a number in Virginia. Actually we don’t have a number at all.”_

Shaw came to a halt and stood silent in the middle of the empty road. A street lamp started flickering as in a movie. It wasn’t though the sound of electricity that was humming in her ear; it was the boiling blood inside her veins that made the whole fuss.

 

“We do now. I will kill her!”

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _'You can't always get what you want...'_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy new year everyone!

_Shaw is gone and you are left there, alone in a hotel room staring at an oil painting of an artist you always hated. These horses used to remind you of a freedom you so secretly desired and –when you managed to obtain it- so intensely hated. Now they just remind you of a life that doesn’t seem yours anymore and a past that returns to haunt you every time you allow your emotions to overwhelm you. And maybe it was a mistake to come here but you know damn well that you didn’t have any choice. You had made a promise and breaking it would only weigh you down even more. Your life is so full of regrets that you can’t handle another one. You cannot disappoint Shaw again and you definitely cannot disappoint her…_

_This trip is about your redemption, it’s your chance to discard the ghosts of your past which keep chasing you after all these years and blaming you for a murder you didn’t commit but provoked with your need for freedom._

_As for Shaw, she had to come too. She has to witness with her own eyes how damaged you yourself are and how much you fathom her condition. Because you cannot abandon her; you wouldn’t bear to do it again._

 

Shaw walked into the same bar she had left an hour ago.

She couldn’t go back to the hotel, couldn’t look at those big deceptive eyes and be able to keep her body from hurting them irreversibly. And maybe she shouldn’t be so complacent about the influence it has over her but at the present time that was the last thing on her mind. After all, she could distract it from its murderous appetite, as long as there were enough men or women to hurt or fuck; or both.

At first, she had gone with the first option; it was so much easier to express anger through violence and pain than sex. Soon, though, her injuries started affecting her job, since she would show up with either a concussion or lacerations so deep in her flesh that slowed her down. So, sex was her only choice but that wasn’t enough.

She did take some pleasure in it before going back to the physical abuse and the reason for giving it up was, as always, her. In the beginning it was easy for her to focus on the person beneath her and coerce an orgasm, however, gradually that person begun transforming into a familiar figure and the orgasm that was now coming unforced was compelling her to scream a certain name.

No, she wouldn’t go back to the hotel. It wasn’t the fear of her anger’s corollary that obstructed her; it was that thing behind Root’s deception.

All the scenes she witnessed since they stepped into that hotel instantly passed before her eyes, a million frames of nothingness highlighting everything she should have seen but didn’t. The denial of informing Harold about Shaw’s involvement in the current number, Root’s alter behavior and her disbelief in the wife’s abduction, it was all there since the beginning, since their random encounter in that alley.

And yet the deceit was bearable, after all it wasn’t the first time the woman had tricked her and definitely not the last; it was the elusive origin of the lie that was disturbing her.

The whiskey was already served and she drained her glass in one huge swallow. And then another, and another. She continued this pattern until a man approached her with an offer that she wasn’t going to refuse. Not tonight.

She didn’t ask for his name –she didn’t care- and fortunately neither did he.

  
As soon as they shut his apartment’s door their lips locked harshly and mechanically. It wasn’t any different from all the other intercourses she had had the past two months. It was uncomplicated and meaningless. Just two people getting what they want from each other.

Their pants were casted off and soon they found themselves wallowing in the floor more than eager to feed the beast that was scratching in a fury their internals.

And it was his tongue in her labia that triggered the inevitable series of thoughts.

Thoughts that emerged from the dark depths of her mind, locked so many years in its attic, suppressed in a reality she had created for herself.

 _Personality Disorder Axis II_ , the big dark bubble in which she built her personality. It suited her; she didn't have to feel, care or fear and she was okay with it. And when she saw that bubble smashed to a million little pieces due to two electrodes she abominated herself. Not for being weak but for how unthinkable was to her the fact that she could betray this woman. It was that moment when she realized that she can endure each and every electron passing through her body, as long as _she_ was safe!

 Suddenly, the arousal that he was trying to cause started feeling pointless; annoying, at the very least. It was frustrating how strange this body beneath her felt and more importantly how it was _not_ the one she wanted to have there.

It came back; this urge to hurt her like the way nobody had before, to touch her like she had never touched anyone, to make her _come_ with her name hanging from her lips, to make her reach that thin line between pain and pleasure, it came back whipping in the process every inch, every fiber, every neuron of her body. And she couldn't take it anymore, this man had nothing that she needed any longer, because now she didn't want sex or violence; she wanted _her_.

Instantly, the oscillation stopped and she dismounted with just a simple movement of her right leg. He looked at her stunned as she moved to search for her pants. 

"What the fuck are you doing?!" 

She smiled at the still aroused organ that was waiting for her ostentatiously and desperately to resume their _dance_.  

"There is somewhere that i need to be" She said while putting on her pants that she finally found beneath the bed. Before walking away, though, she felt strong hands circling her neck from behind and a breath that smelled of whiskey and sweat invading her ear.

"You are not leaving before we finish what we started"

Shaw didn't move, it wasn't violence that she was seeking tonight, let alone practicing it against someone she hadn't been fair to in the first place. 

She turned around quietly and looked at him with eyes calm and fearless.

"Look, i'm sorry for ruining your party but i really need to go, so if you could remove your hands..."

She didn't get the chance to utter anything else.

"Do you really believe that you can play with me and then leave just like that?"

A hand landed on her face, warm and bold, making her bottom lip split open, but she didn't react, just smiled at the expression of the man in front of her, which from dangerously angry had changed into questioning in a matter of seconds due to the serenity she emitted and the lack of fear in her face. 

"You are right-handed, right?"

His facial expression was now something more than puzzled. He opened his mouth to return something but was disrupted in the process by a combination of movements that knocked him down, like a well built algorithm, in less time than a butterfly needs to flap her wings once.

 The man screamed something that sounded like a curse and collapsed holding painfully his right hand. 

Shaw smirked and while walking away spoke, "guess it's not just you and your hand tonight either."

 

The gentle drizzle that had started as soon as she stepped out of the building was now getting fierce. She was still in the middle of an empty road when she closed her eyes and tilted her head back appreciating every drop that was lashing her face, every moment of unexpected but welcome calmness. It felt like _catharsis_. 

 _Personality disorder. Personality disorder. Personality disorder._  

She kept playing it in her mind as if it was locked in an infinite loop but got tired of the repetition and remained in existence just from habbit. 

Lost in her wrecked dark bubble, she didn't realize that she was walking fast towards the hotel, towards her. She didn't know, though, what exactly she was searching for.

Answers? She was too afraid to ask for them, too afraid of Root's emotional denudation and the truth behind that annoying smile that she adored. 

 

_The water is softly caressing your face and you welcome every drop that cathartically cloaks your tears. You don't know why you are hiding them, you are alone in the bathroom, nobody sees you or them, nobody judges you. Maybe you only try to hide them from the reflection in your mirror or maybe you are ashamed of your weakness and you hate yourself for that, for letting these memories condemn you like relentless judges of the past._

_You start questioning your judgement. Why did you bring Shaw here? You both know that she cannot offer you support nor comprehension. She won't even give you a caress or just a gentle touch, even though you need it more than anything else, especially now; especially from her._

 

Shaw entered the room exactly the same moment that Root exited the bathroom. Both wet but only one dressed. She stood by the door and stared arduously at the naked body before her. Eyes continually caressing every inch of the exposed flesh briefly coming to a halt only when they met with a scar. And the stops were enough to make Shaw forget about the reason she was here in the first place.

Root simpered confidently before wrapping a towel around that magnificent body of hers, raising Shaw's unconcealed disappointment. 

Nobody talked or moved for a moment, both unwilling to lose the silently agreed competition.

Root finally spoke, sorrowful eyes locking with the opposite pair.   

"So, how was he?"

Shaw's eyebrows narrowed, "I thought this town was free of cameras"

"It is", the reply came flowing and connotative.

 The Machine had chosen _her_ as Her analog interface for a very specific reason; she had something that even a super inteligent computer could never have; full measure of human psychology. 

That's why it was so natural and easy for her to read the signals behind flushed cheeks, loosen hair and a bloody lip. 

Shaw opened her mouth to say something but regretted it the same moment. Instead, she moved towards the small living room and took a seat in front of the laptop that was now projecting the asleep ' _number_ '. And she knew it was time to confront her. It was the time to stop pretending and smash the 'personality-disorder' bubble.

She decisively made a move to turn around but was interrupted by two hands that softly came to rest on her shoulders.

"If you wanted sex," Root's head appeared on her right shoulder as she whispered in her ear, "all you had to do was ask"

 Shaw didn't react, couldn't betray how unprepared for this intimate contact she was caught.

"Maybe i just didn't want to have sex with you" she said and slightly turned her head, which now was just a few inches away from Root's.  

"Or maybe you wanted it more that you could handle". The smirk still in her face.

Shaw snapped. She stood up and pushed the taller woman against the wall, hands around her neck, the smile though remained; at least, until the question was raised.  

"What do you want from me?" Shaw's voice sounded like surrendering. Calm but challenging.

Root boggled. She had a line and an innuendo for everything but was lost for words at a simple question, so she just stood there and stared at the woman as if she was asked to actualize the theory of everything. 

"You don't know, do you?" Shaw loosened her grip; she had received the answer she was seeking. Her hands were now more caressing than clenching that neck as her eyes climbed down pausing at Root's lips. 

The taller woman unwillingly let a single tear fall and closed her eyes too embarrassed to look at Shaw who's anger was now building up.

"Don't you dare do that"

And Root did exactly the opposite, not being able to hold the tears that started flowing like drops from a very broken faucet. And then there it was. Lips brushing against hers, a hand cupping her cheek and another strongly holding her waist.

It took her a second to realize the contact but when she did her requital came out effortlesly, as if it was the only thing she knew how to do this moment.

The gentle and soft kissing became fierce. They were both taking what they needed from the other, tongues exploring and now and then meeting with each other in an endless game of dominance, but still it wasn't enough. 

Shaw's hands dropped Root's towel on the floor so they could start an endless struggle to explore every inch of the naked woman's body while she was kissing and biting the still raw neck.  

Suddenly, an odd thought occured to her and she instantly stopped everything she was doing and lifted her head to look at Root who was resting her head against the wall, eyes closed and mouth half open.

"What do you want?" Shaw repeated so low that she wasn't sure if the other woman heard her.

Root waited a moment before opening her wet eyes and run a hand through Shaw's hair while whispering softly, "You" 

Shaw nodded and locked their lips again, desperately and wildly, as she moved backwards pulling Root along and pushing her down on the bed.

Lips tireless kissing the naked woman's neck, then moving downwards alternately sucking her nipples while hands were bruising every square inch of flesh they touched.  

Root grabbed Shaw's shirt and tried to pull it off only to be stopped by strong arms that grabbed her wrists and lifted them above her head, kissing her in the process. 

And she tried not to read too much into it but her suspicion became actual as soon as she received the same response when she moved her hands to undo Shaw's pants.

"You are still dressed" she murmured desperately trying to sound confident; eventually she didn't. 

"I know" Shaw continued her teasing, caressing her inner thigh but never moving further, sucking her hard nipples but not staying there too long, biting her lips but not kissing them. Every movement she made was harsh and painful, every touch was cold, every gaze they shared was cut short by her.  

"But... Ah!" Root tried to utter something but a finger was unexpectedly pushed into her center shuting her up for good.

Shaw smirked at the questioning expression of the woman beneath her as soon as she withdrew her finger after a couple of rubs against the very wet labia. 

 Root couldn't hold it anymore, she slipped her hand under the assassin's shirt, casting about just for one touch, and pulled her closer, desperate to feel her. Shaw snapped, she grabbed the hand and pressed it roughly against the mattress, "Do that again and i walk"

"Please..." Root suppressed a sobbing, abandoning any attempt to reach for exposed flesh she let the other woman take full control of her body. Meanwhile her ego was screaming at her to stop this intercourse that had nothing to do with what _she_ wanted; she couldn't stop though, she needed this too much to end it.  

A finger exploring again her center, rubbing her clit and then moving inside only to get out and start over again. It was everywhere and nowhere. It was where she needed it the most and then it wasn't. 

"Shaw", her voice was pleading, "i need more"

Her request was immediately rejected. One finger and only continued this game, sliding easily in and out, circling, rubbing, doing everything right, yet it wasn't enough. And Shaw knew it; she knew how torturously slow she moved her hand and how insufficient was one finger and yet she didn't change her technique.

Root tried a couple of times to use her own hand to excite her clit giving as a pretext something like ' _two hands are better than one_ ' but Shaw instantly shoved it back.

"Say it" she paused her finger and looked at the flushed woman's inquisitive eyes, "say my name"

Root didn't utter a word. She lost the war tonight but she wasn't going to give her this last satisfaction too.

Shaw snapped. She started rocking her finger mercifully and witnessed Root's orgasm building up so fast that she would swear that the quivering of her internal tightened hard her single finger.   

And when the pace of her movement decreased and the naked woman tried to calm herself, Shaw abruptly pushed two more fingers in, increasing again rapidly her rhythm. 

Root didn't get the chance to react, she only synchronized her hips with the rocking, grasping the sheets and moaning faintly. 

It didn't take long for her to come again, harder and uncontrollable; Shaw's name exiting unforced her lips, _'Sameen' ._

 

Her legs were still shaking when Shaw leaned over kissing her momentarily and eventually whispering in her ear,

 

_"I know"_

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We are all complaining about the lack of communication between the two of them. So, here it is:  
> Lack of the lack of communication!!! _(Warning! Too many dialogues!)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I'm angry! My space bar is broken!!!)

 

_“I know"_

 

But Root wasn't really listening. She was lost somewhere between sorrow and pleasure, straggling to resurface in a reality that was hurting her like hell.

She had taken what she needed, at least half of it, yet she felt empty; emptier than ever before.

Still lying in bed, she didn't fight the tears that were evacuating her eyes. Even when Shaw stood up and gave her a hard look full of contempt and coldness she averted her eyes and let all the tears she was suppressing overwhelm her.

 

As soon as Shaw got out of the bathroom she found Root already dressed, staring at the laptop's screen with the most empty and apathetic expression she had ever seen on the woman.

_Why the hell is she still playing this game?_

She moved towards the laptop and witnessed their number's daughter passed out on the floor with blood on her face and the _'number'_ rifling through every drawer in their room. Eventually he found it -a 9 millimeter pistol hidden in a closet- and left the room without even taking a glimpse at his lying down daughter.

_Definitely a personality disorder!_

"What the hell happened?"

Root kept silent for a moment as if she hadn’t realized the person beside her. Tears were still filling her eyes and Shaw couldn’t tell if it was about the coolness of their intercourse or the scene of a man hitting his daughter.

"He is going to search for his wife, we need to go" She didn’t turn around to face Shaw, couldn’t look at her right now; couldn’t let her see how vulnerable and exposed she felt.

"Why? He is not even our number" Shaw snapped and Root momentarily gave her a look of surprise and puzzlement and then replaced it with strong determination.

"Look, i will explain everything but right now we have to stop him" Shaw didn’t seem persuaded so she continued, more aggressively this time, "He is going to get himself killed"

Shaw tried to think about it but Root’s impatient stare was blocking every argument she was trying to develop and just like every other time she complied. "Fine"

 

This time Root was driving the motorbike and it was nothing like anything Shaw had ever seen before. Actually she had seen this kind of desperate driving once: when Martine was coming after her and the crazy driver appeared out of the blue to save her ass; again.

She closed the gap between them and felt the torso before her shaking.

Suddenly, it all came back to her like a lightning bolt sent directly and personally from Zeus to her head. These moments when she had made Root’s body quiver as she and only commanded; they came back and she didn’t know what to do with them. Because they had nothing to do with what she had done an hour ago, these moments were gently violent, rough but not cruel, affectionate in the only way she knew how to be and definitely reciprocal.

Instinctively, she reached out and grabbed Root’s waist in order to –as she convinced herself- calm her down and prevent the imminent accident from happening. She hadn’t survived multiple gunfights and tortures so that she would die from a motorbike accident, especially, caused by this annoying brunette that controlled her life more than she could ever imagine.

Root immediately stopped shaking but didn’t react in any other way, neither a comment nor an innuendo was received and Shaw pondered.

The ride was short; going from one end of this town to the other took only a couple of minutes, considering that Root had tripled the speed limit.

They found _him_ outside of a warehouse, making threats to the wealthy man they had encountered in the bar hours before and pointing the M &P9 at the two bodyguards who had already drawn their guns on him too.

 _A mutual assured destruction,_ Shaw thought as they entered the dance and she smiled.

She used to love these situations, a perfect balance that could be easily disturbed just by a single movement of a finger; it was almost as rousing as sex.

They stayed silent for a moment, Root’s guns were pointing at the bodyguards, both of her arms extended and that look on her face, calm and deadly at the same time, and Shaw couldn’t help but admit to herself how hot the other woman looked. She, on the other hand, was aiming at the _‘number’_ who’s hands were now shaking more than Root’s body on the bike or Root’s legs between orgasms or… _how the hell did she manage to penetrate her thoughts again?!_

And Root wasn’t only penetrating, she also interrupted them. “Shaw” Her eyes moving from the assassin’s gun to the bodyguards implying the obvious.

Shaw though didn’t move, instead she put that smile on her face that appears only when a gunfight is about to start or when she’s waiting for Bear to fetch the ball.

Root couldn’t tell if it was retaliation against her secrecy or she just wanted to maintain the harmony between the two teams. Either way, she cleared her throat in a very manifest way and finally saw the other woman moving the gunpoint to face the man in the unaffordable suit.

The balance was now lost and Root could easily discern Shaw’s expression of disappointment, _and so it was the second one._

“Okay, why don’t we all lower our weapons and talk about it?” Her voice calm and soft.

“Talk about it?!” The furious man was more than surprised by the three intruders, “This psychopath was about to break into my property and now he’s threatening me, I have every right to shoot him”

The ‘ _number_ ’ was struggling to regain control over his actions but had lost it long ago, “Shut up! I’m not leaving unless you give me my wife back”

A mocking laugh came from both the wealthy man and one of his bodyguards “Listen to what he is saying. His wife is dead, everyone knows that”

In the meantime, the two women were standing behind their ‘ _number’_ , still pointing guns at the bodyguards and watching silently while this absurd scene was unfolding before their eyes.

“She’s not. You've abducted her” He was almost screaming; hands dangerously swinging the gun and a face oozing a liquid that you couldn’t discern if it was sweat or tears.

“Oh please, you are just outranged that my hotel’s attracting all the tourists and you are going out of business.”

“Hey you are not helping” Shaw started losing her patience. A couple of hours ago she was willing to believe that his wife was alive and somehow abducted by this nouveau rich oaf, but now, looking at this abject man who’s mind is playing him in the most abhorrent way, all she could do was empathize him and more importantly his daughter. Every movement, every word this daughter _–Sam-_ had uttered was now making sense. It was her. She was the head of this two-membered family, she was the grown up and the one who was raising the other.

Shaw’s thoughts were cut short by Root’s serene voice. “David. Look at me. Do you remember me?” It was the first time Shaw heard his name. She didn’t care to ask for it until now; until this moment of transparency.

“I’m Sam… Samantha.” Root continued, surprising both Shaw and herself with the enunciation of her birth name. Shaw though had more revelations to digest.

The ‘ _number’_ turned around and gave an inquiring look at Root. “Samantha? My daughter?”

Root didn’t lose her patience. She was someone else, someone Shaw had never met before. There were no smiles, no perky eyes wandering, just a straight face –and maybe a little sad- looking him directly in the eyes. “No, not your daughter.” She gave him a second to adjust and then continued, dropping the bombs one after another. “You’ve named both of us after Samuel. Do you remember what you had told me about that name?”

He blinked a couple of times and then it hit him. “I do! My favorite niece, I haven’t seen you since you were ten. How’s my sister?”

Root’s eyes dropped on the floor for a moment and then climbed up again meeting with the opposite sorrowful pair. “She’s dead. Don’t you remember? I’ve called you that day. Have you forgotten her?” _‘Small and simple sentences’,_ she _had not forgotten..._

The man was about to start shaking again but at the final moment he regained control. “No, no never! Your mother was…” His apologetic voice turned instantly into horror as the realization stroke him like a bolt of lightning. “Oh my god, she was...” His eyes started from their sockets at the sequence of flashbacks “What have I done? I hit her. Sam. I hit my daughter”

A second fit of rage was about to arise but Root was there, holding his shoulders and appeasing him. “It’s ok, she’s fine. I need you to calm down now and give me your weapon”

*

As soon as they entered the room Root took a look at the laptop’s screen, which was now projecting the ‘ _number_ ’-David- talking to his daughter, and then shut it down decisively as if her whole childhood was being displayed and she couldn’t bare to live it again.

Shaw was striking her with her eyes as she moved to the bed (she had finally chosen one) and glared at the oil painting in the wall. _Laurie Justus Pace._

Shaw followed her. She leaned against the wall, inches away from the painting, and waited. What was she supposed to say that wasn’t already aired?

Thankfully Root broke the silence first, “You were right” but the standing woman didn’t seem to comprehend her statement, so she elaborated, “About the disorder. He has borderline personality disorder.”

Shaw nodded but didn’t respond. Didn’t know what the right thing to say was. And then she replayed the scene in her mind and found it; how could she possibly miss it?!

“Back there…” She started, her eyes finally meeting with Root’s empty stare, “you looked like you knew what you were doing”

Root immediately averted her eyes. She could tell where this conversation was going and didn’t like it. She did like though Shaw’s reticence; it wasn’t something the other woman was used to and it was more than obvious how awkward she felt.

Eventually, Shaw continued. “Did your mother…?” Root’s gaze was still fixed at the painting when her head tilted slightly simulating an affirmative nod.

She closed her eyes and let a single tear fall before speaking. “She was always so angry” hands clasping the sheets, “and when she wasn’t… she was begging for forgiveness”.

She didn’t have the energy to suppress any other feelings, they were drowning her and she couldn’t take it anymore. _A Descent into the Maelstrom!_ That’s how she felt, that’s how the she could describe that agonizing pain she felt.

Suddenly, she lost the ability to breathe. _How?!_ It was the only thing she knew how to do, the only fixed thing in her life.

The realization of what she was feeling, for the first time in a while, was pleasant. She opened her eyes and looked at the warm hand that was resting on her shoulder. It wasn’t a delusion; she could feel it there, offering support and sympathy.

“We should have some rest” Shaw’s voice felt unbelievable calm and sweet and harmonious as it entered her ears. But the feeling didn’t last long; it never does! The hand left her shoulder and along with its owner disappeared behind that bloody dividing wall.

It was okay though. There was nothing else she would ask, nothing else she needed.

 

Half an hour later, no one was sleeping. They were both resting in comfortable silence, until Shaw spoke.

“Root?”

The other woman waited for a moment, just to give time to specifically _this_ mechanical wave to vibrate in her ear, and then replied.

“Yes?”

“So, what had he told you about your name?”

Root smiled at Shaw’s unconcealed curiosity and extended her arm to caress the thick wall between them.

“Just its meaning”

Shaw rolled her eyes, the woman was procrastinating on purpose and they both knew it. She wanted to hear another question, another small evidence of Shaw’s concern, and eventually it came, “And what would that be?”

Root pleased with herself let her eyes close and turned her body to face that damn wall before offering the reply,

“The one who listens to God”

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this was supposed to be the last chapter but it's more extended than I expected therefor I'm halving it.   
> I promise the next chapter will be the last one.

 

_Machines are self-regulating, they use feedback loops, run multiple scenarios, inputs becoming outputs and vice versa, just to accomplish the best possible outcome. And even humans do that -to a lesser degree of correctness, going back, thinking of what they did wrong, of what they should have done but didn’t, regretting it, wondering ‘what if’, blaming themselves or others._

_But you; you are a pragmatist. You don’t have regrets or second thoughts or accusations. You accept the consequences of your actions or inactions and you move on._

_10mA_

_20mA_

_50mA  You blink once._

_Twice. The pain is intolerable; every cell of your system screams and begs you to surrender. You can almost feel your eyelashes close automatically, just by natural instinct. You blink._

_You are a sociopath, you don’t care about anything or anyone, you kill people for living and then you sleep at night like nothing happened. Why suffer this torment for someone you could never care for? You blink again._

_And again._

_And you shout her location out, desperately and submissively. You are betraying her, the woman that has saved your life more times than you can remember, you are driving her to her death while you just sit there, alive._

_Yet you don’t feel alive. You are picturing the bullet between her eyes, you can almost feel it penetrating your stomach and it makes you sick; sick of yourself. ‘No. No!’ You are screaming and pleading for some pain. You attach the electrodes again to your fingers and beg them to torture you again, to hurt you._

_Because the pain that you are feeling right now is nothing like before. Your whole body is rotting from the inside and you just don’t know what to do with the worms that devour your steely heart. You are mourning and asking for forgiveness, but no one’s there, no one can hear you now._

 

“Shaw! Wake up!”

Shaw opened her eyes and looked blankly at the woman beside her. She was sitting on the bed, holding her shoulders tightly and saying something that she didn’t quite catch on.

“It’s okay. You are safe”

But Shaw wasn’t really listening. Instinctively she sat up and brought her hands on both sides of Root’s face; it felt soft beneath her hard palms. And she wanted to scream _‘you are safe’_ and hold her there, tightly, just to scan every inch of her face and make sure that she’s alive. But she didn’t, she was too terrified to utter a word.

Root was caught completely off guard, so she just stayed there, still and speechless, not because of the gesture but due to the look on Shaw’s face. She had seen and memorized every expression of the woman; anger, annoyance, frustration, pleasure; but this… This was something different, something new. It was fear.

Shaw gradually started snapping back to reality, not the one she was living in for the last two months but the one that her subconscious was trying to raise from the darkness of her mind, a reality that she herself had chosen and, at the end of the day, she wouldn’t change it even if she could.

And with that realization, she leaned forward until her forehead came to rest gently against Root’s, a hand started caressing the woman’s cheek while the other moved the curls away from her face.

“I have no regrets” Voice soft and low; so low that the oscillation of her vocal cords was barely forming an acoustic wave capable of vibrating the most sensitive eardrum.

But Root heard it; the lack of a stapes wasn’t enough to obstruct her from hearing this particular sentence.

And it was this sentence that froze her. Last time she tried to wake Shaw up she found herself struggling to breathe, something totally expected and manageable. This response, though, was nothing like _Shaw_ and she couldn’t decide whether she should keep quiet and hear her out or run away for her own safety.

Shaw paid no attention to the bafflement of the face between her hands therefor she continued, not exactly knowing if she was directing these inmost thoughts at Root or just herself.

“That day,” he voice was calm, almost peaceful, «If I could go back there, I’d make the same choice again. Just like every night…»

Root lowered her head, breaking the contact. She just couldn’t look the other woman in the eye and be able to force herself not to break down in tears. All this time she was blaming herself for what had happened that day and maybe deep down she hoped that Shaw did the same, thus she wouldn’t have to face the reality.

A reality in which this woman, that she loved more than she could ever understand, was enduring such a brutal torment just to keep her safe. That would mean that she does care. It would have been hope; a hope she couldn’t bear to lose.

And as if Shaw read her thoughts, she cupped her chin and raised slightly her head. With mouths inches away from each other that didn’t utter a word and eyes locked together that were saying everything, they stayed there, silent and still, looking at each other until Shaw closed the gap between them.

Her kiss was new; soft and almost affectionate. And even when Root deepened it, turning it from reluctant to desperate and hungry, Shaw continued caressing her face as if she was asking for something ineffable.

As soon as their lips broke away, Root opened her eyes, only to make sure that the woman kissing her like this was indeed Shaw and not just a figment of her imagination.

“I missed you”, Root did her best to cover the desperation in her voice but the only thing she succeeded was to expose all the more her soul to the piercing sight of the opposite woman.

This time Shaw didn’t speak. Besides, she had said everything with her actions, with soft touches and a kiss so affectionate that if anyone else had kissed her in this way she would have felt disgust, at the very least, and maybe if she had had a bad day she would have probably kneecapped him.

Root’s eyes moved from the opposite pair to Shaw’s shirt and up again, as if she was asking for permission. She received a slight nod before grabbing it and taking it off.

When the shirt hit the floor and Shaw’s exposed flesh mirrored in Root’s eyes a suppressed sound of surprise escaped her lips.

“What have you done?” She had kissed and memorized each and every scar of this body along with the violent stories behind them, it was like a land that she had explored and mapped multiple times, a path she could cross blindly; it was home. What she was now witnessing, though, was terra incognita. Cuts, bruises and burns she had never seen before and none of them over two months old.

Although the Machine had informed her of Shaw’s activities these past two months, of every man or woman she fucked, every fight she provoked, Root never expected this. A trained operative should have defended herself better.

Her hands wandered on the bare torso, caressing every new scar she didn’t recognize, memorizing and cataloging it. And then she realized she already knew the answer to her questions.

“You allowed this, didn’t you?”

Shaw lowered her head like a scolded child. Guilt and/or maybe shame could be discerned on her face and Root wondered how many hidden expressions this woman possessed, because she definitely had never stopped amazing her.

Any sign of weakness that may have been displayed was cut short by a slight movement of Shaw’s head. Her eyes were bright and she was smirking as if she was aware of the universe’s secrets that nobody knew about and nobody would ever know.

This time the kiss was familiar; forward and demanding.

The moment didn’t last long though. A scream invaded their room and made them both jump from their position. The yelp was coming from the ground floor, feminine and familiar.

Within a couple of seconds the two women found themselves running down the stairs with drawn guns in their hands and a mournful keen in the background.

When they had arrived in this place they had brought Shaw’s kit bag with them. It was _the_ bag that involved everything they might need; fully and semi-automatic pistols, bolt action firearms, hand grenades, a block of C4, knives and a first aid kit. They were prepared for everything.

Or almost everything.

Because what they witnessed when they burst into that room was something that none of them was prepared for...

The room was quite big; a couch in front of the television, a wooden table with some chairs, a kitchen counter and there, in a corner, all curled up was David’s daughter, weeping and covering her eyes with her hands.

 

Nobody paid any attention to her though; the chandelier in the middle of the room had something more _interesting_ hanging from it.

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

 

It wasn’t the first time Shaw had witnessed a man committing suicide by hanging. During many missions with the ISA she would find her targets already dead, sometimes with a gun, sometimes with poison and other times with a hanging noose just because they wouldn’t let themselves buckle under and reveal information through interrogation. And in a small way she admired these persons. They had the courage and the fortitude to end their lives for their beliefs, for their country or for the people they cared about.

Momentarily, it occurred to her that maybe someday she herself would do such a sacrifice and a bitter laugh escaped her lips. She was a sociopath, how could she do something so nobble and selfless like this?

_She didn’t know she had already done it._

Even so she was familiar –as familiar anyone can be- with this kind of scenes, what she witnessed in that room felt like a punch in her gut. No less, it wasn’t the suspension of the body that bedecked the imposing chandelier what made her sick; it was the screaming of his daughter that was penetrating her ears and she could still hear it pulsating in there even now that was over. For a moment she wondered if there would be anyone mourning her death when it came.

That kind of thoughts was toying with her mind while Shaw was heading up to the room to find Root. She had returned there as soon as they cut down the lifeless body under the pretense of preparing their gear and with an apathetic voice that hadn’t seemed to be hers she had suggested that they leave as early as was feasible since there was nothing else they could do.

And she might have tried to hide the tears in her eyes but Shaw was there and she had seen everything. She had seen how desperately Root was trying to bring back to life her uncle, how she consoled the fatherless girl, how broken she looked. But more importantly, Shaw had heard her voice. She had heard those two words that she uttered when they entered the room.

These two words were occupying her brain now that she stepped into their own room and found Root standing still in front of that painting; so still that momentarily Shaw thought she had stopped breathing.

“Root?” The woman seemed like she hadn’t noticed Shaw’s presence and when the sound of her name reached her ears she turned around rapidly. Her face had an expression of surprise and disappointment when she realized that Shaw was the one addressing her and instantly forced a smile.

But even with that smile masking her real face Shaw could discern the pain engraved on her lips and her bloodshot, angry eyes.

“How’s Sam?”

Shaw’s reply came unforced as if she was already prepared for the question, “She’s mourning but she’s tough. She’ll be fine.”

Root allowed a subtly bitter laugh to escape her lips before compressing them and returning her gaze at the painting. Two colorful horses running freely; even if she stayed there looking at it for years, the depiction would never change.

“Root, about before” Shaw’s voice echoed in the background and Root let it vibrate her eardrum mainly out of habit and to a smaller degree voluntarily, “You said something”, Shaw paused. She had never been inquisitive; as a matter of fact she never cared about other people’s life that’s why asking questions was so not her style.

With Root though was different. She wanted to learn things about her, to find out about what made Root the person she is today; not knowing if it was out of curiosity or if she really cared.

In any case, she wasn’t going to continue this conversation; it wasn’t her place to ask about Root’s past and even if she received an answer she wouldn’t know what to do with it, because she was definitely not the person to empathize and console.

Before she could decide what to say next, Root disencumbered her and answered the unspoken question. “Would you like to know about my mother?”, more of an affirmation than a question.

Shaw didn’t reply, she couldn’t decide anymore if she really wanted to know what those two words meant. Her mind took the liberty of replaying the scene and projected onto the back of her eyes Root running towards the hanging body and vociferating –better spitting- the two words.  _‘Not again’_

Root took the reply she was seeking by Shaw’s silent response and continued. “The answer to your question is _‘yes’_ ”, eyes finally meeting Shaw’s inquisitive look, “Yes, my mother committed suicide too.”

For a moment, they held each other’s gaze. An awkward stare on one side and on the other a cold and blank one, as if the memories of her past came back along with the wall that she used to raise to protect herself as a child.

When the silence became intolerable Shaw moved closer, slowly so that she could buy some time in order to find the appropriate words. She knew that she had to say something; she just didn’t know what yet.

Until it hit her.

“Did she leave a note?”

And it was that simple question that made Root snap just like a single fault in an earthquake or the first explosion in a chain reaction. Instantly, her shaky hands grabbed the painting that for so many hours was standing there mocking her and started battering it against the tip of the wooden bed.

She couldn’t hear her own screams while the canvas was tearing against the sharp edge, but Shaw heard them. She had never seen Root lose control, let alone taking it out on a painting, so she held her position watching speechless an outraged Root destroying that poor oil painting.

A couple of seconds later Shaw felt her body moving towards Root. It was doing _this_ thing again, acting like there is no brain to give orders and Shaw convinced herself that she was following _its_ lead for the sake of the bed and of course whatever is left of the painting.

Approaching the livid woman from behind Shaw wrapped her arms around Root’s waist and simultaneously pushed them both against the wall.

At first Root fought the hold off but the pressure on her abdomen locked her in a place where every inch of her back was pressing hard against Shaw’s body and with this realization came the surrender.

As soon as her body stopped shaking and the painting, wrecked, fell off her hands her senses switched back, more intense than ever before. She could feel the strong muscles around her arms, hands touching -softly now- her abdomen and a warm body holding her down tight and making her feel as safe as she had never felt before.

And she would never mention how close to a hug this was or how much she had missed this particularly familiar scent. Besides, Shaw would never acknowledge the gesture and even now that Root had calmed down in her hands she was trying to convince her _self_ that she was doing it for Root. In addition, the _self_ was playing at convinced!

Slowly the pretext became realization and Shaw withdrew her hands allowing them to brush up against Root’s hips just as they were pulling away, a gesture that someone who knew about emotions and didn’t know Shaw could easily mistake it for caress.

Root held her position for a moment -unable to break the physical contact just yet- and before stepping away from Shaw, who was still quietly leaning against the wall, she murmured a ‘ _thank you_ ’.

A loud silence blasted from behind as Root bent down to pick up the oil painting and lift it to eye level. A split had formed between the two horses that were barely visible due to the lack of color which was now decorating the wooden tip of the bed and a part of the floor.

A nearly undetectable smile made an appearance on Root’s lips while she was proudly observing her creation.

“Laurie Justus Pace” Root uttered the artist’s name like a blasphemy, “She was a friend of my mother’s”

She hung it back on the wall almost like a ritual before continuing, “She had gifted us a very similar painting, one horse though, that my mother had for years gracing our living room” she overlaid her pause with a sarcastic laugh, “She used to say that _it emanated a tint of freedom and carelessness..._  and then she was begging me to abandon her.”

Her gaze was still locked on the painting when a tear ran down her cheek and an uncharacterized darkness appeared in her eyes. She collapsed on the floor as though there was no energy left inside her to hold her weight, legs drown close to her body and eyes stuck in the bounds of infinity.

All this time Shaw was carefully listening to Root, logging every little detail in her brain, but now that the talking was over she had no idea how she was supposed to react, so she just approached the sitting woman and silently sat down next to her, fixing her stare on the painting as well.

Root paid no attention to the woman beside her; she was trapped in a living room with an oil painting on the wall and a lifeless body before her. “I found her lying dead on the floor. Her eyes were still open facing the fucking horse in the painting.” She raised her hands to hide her face, “It was covered in her blood; that was her _note_.”

Immediately Shaw’s eyes turned to Root. A _‘fuck’_ climbed up her throat but never escaped her lips.

Back in college she had read about suicidal ideation, it was a common occurrence in many personality disorders although she never understood why. Over the years she had seen people commit suicide for a variety of reasons but this was something new; this person killed herself to set her child free.

Shaw turned fully her body to face Root and softly lowered the hands that were covering her face.

“It’s not your fault” said Shaw, not knowing if she was referring to Root’s mother or her torture.

Root’s eyes were still closed when she spoke, almost like a whisper. “I just wanted to take care of her”

Still, the conversation was oscillating between a very distant past and a more recent one. Root was feeling guilty for being so powerless to prevent her mother’s death and Shaw’s torture but mostly she abominated herself for being the cause of everything her loved ones suffered.

A nearly unheard apology escaped Root’s lips and Shaw forced her to open her eyes.

She didn’t.

“Root” her voice soft and commanding at the same time, “look at me”

Haltingly, these bright eyes that could make Shaw kill whoever hurt their owner –or the owner herself- appeared and looked at her pleading for a merciful truth.

And it came, unforced.

“She didn’t do it because of you”, said Shaw, her stare still locked with Root’s inquisitive one under two foreheads that were almost touching, “she did it for you!”

She didn’t have to emphasize the word _‘for’_ to make Root understand what she actually meant. Shaw wasn’t only talking about Root’s mother and they both knew it. They shared this secret communication line that was interpreting everything their mouths wouldn’t utter, everything their eyes vociferated.

Root’s smile was now spontaneous; genuine. She raised her hands again and cupped Shaw’s face placing a grateful kiss on her lips.

“Wanna get out of here?”

Shaw nodded and helped the other woman rise, a smirk on both of their faces.

 

The ride back home is different this time. They have left a piece of themselves behind and yet they feel more complete than ever before. There isn’t a baggage to carry anymore, the past and the future have merged into each other and became one. It is only the present now. It is this moment that passes before you can see it coming. It is only them now. Two bodies pressed together as one and nothing else.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, I thought it'd never end!  
> So, i might have considered making Root say this three word sentence that has a first-person singular nominative personal pronoun, a present tense verb in first person and a second-person singular object pronoun (you know what i mean) but I just couldn't...
> 
> Thank you all for reading and tolerating my crappy language!


End file.
